


Swore An Oath

by grey_sw (grey)



Series: Possibilities [4]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Blood, Blood Magic, Brotherhood-era, Coming of Age, Determination, Episode Ignis Spoilers, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Time Skip, World of Ruin, Young Ignis, Young Noctis, almost a polyship roadtrip?, blood oath, does this count as comfort?, ends in a tripleship fate-flip, well Ignis thinks so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-07 01:04:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13423440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grey/pseuds/grey_sw
Summary: His blood rushes fast again, pounding in his ears. It's a warning, a promise: if he fails now, if he's rejected by the Crystal, he'll never leave this place. Ignis has read more than enough to know that the Crystal judges men and women alike, and it smites the unworthy. Those who dare to approach it with untrue hearts must die.No one will even hear him scream. (The Crystal room is soundproof for a reason.)





	1. The Oath

**Author's Note:**

> check the tags, friends! the cool kids are doing it
> 
> chapter 1 and the first section of chapter 2 are gen / friendship fic, set when Noct and Ignis were kids. the rest of chapter 2 is Ignoct, set right before & after the time-skip. there is NO underage content in this fic.

Noct is asleep in his bed, breathing slow, with the covers pulled up to hide the bandages that swathe his lower back. Ignis watches him, concerned: Noct gets muscle spasms if he gets too cold, and the doctors said that could hurt him, could set back his recovery even further. 

That hasn't happened. It won't. Ignis reaches out to adjust the blankets again. The big, fluffy comforter is only for Noct's legs, because it seems too heavy to press against his wound. Ignis checks to make sure it's tucked in just right, leaving a pocket of warmth for Noct to shift around in. 

The smaller blanket, the coverlet, is the only one Ignis will allow against his charge's back. It's already pulled up to the bottom of Noct's neck, but Ignis still shifts it a little, tucking the top corners under to trap the heat. Noct murmurs in his sleep, twitching. His hand curls and trembles beneath his chin, as if he's reaching for something in his dreams. 

"I'm here, Noct," Ignis whispers. He lays his hand on the crown of Noct's head, carding gently through his soft black hair. "Carbuncle is here, too. Let him guard you." He glances over, checking to make sure that Noct's little good-dreams charm is where it ought to be, a flash of ruby and ceramic blue on top of the covers. The King was most insistent that the Carbuncle charm needed to be _on_ the bed; Ignis was privately dismayed by the idea of such sloppy bed-making, but royal decree is royal decree. And it does seem to help. Between the Carbuncle charm and Ignis' kind touch, he and the King have been able to banish Noct's nightmares and keep his sleep safe.

Safe from the Marilith, from the memory of the daemon that nearly killed him.

Ignis lets his eyes slip shut for a second, considering. He'd promised himself he'd begin his mission if Noct didn't wake within the hour, and that was -- he opens his eyes again, checks his watch -- an hour and three minutes ago. At this point, he's just stalling, and stalling is not proper behavior for an advisor. But part of him doesn't want to leave, afraid that Noct will wake without him, all alone. 

_That might happen,_ he tells himself, in a voice that sounds much like his Uncle Altius. _You know it might. Especially today. If you do this, if you fail..._

He won't fail. He can't. Noct needs him.

Ignis huffs out a sharp breath and stands, decided. He has to do this, now, before Noct gets worse. He can't protect him as he is... not as a lanky boy with four years of Advisor's training, most of which consisted of learning his manners and maths. The Marilith's attack proved that quite decisively. Part of Ignis still whispers _I should have been there_ , but the rest of him knows: if he'd been there, he would never have come back. He's not strong enough yet. He's not mighty the way he needs to be, for Noct.

He can't help a glance behind him, but Noct doesn't stir. He's slipped out of REM sleep, then, into deeper levels of rest. (Ignis has three different books on the science of sleep, recently borrowed from the Citadel's library.) That gives Ignis ninety minutes to do what he's decided to do, give or take. Ninety minutes to gain the power to protect his best friend, the one he loves. 

More like seventy minutes, really, if he wants to be back before Noct starts to shift again. 

_Enough thinking_ , he tells himself, and opens the wooden chest at the foot of Noct's bed.

He removes the contents in precise, cautious silence, a growing pile of stuffed behemoths and comic books. When the chest is empty he digs his fingernails into the crack around the bottom board and pulls upward, mindful that it doesn't squeak against the wood. It comes up neatly in his hands. He sets it aside, remembering hours outside the Citadel woodshop, sawing and sanding and staining to make the false bottom of the toy chest match flawlessly. He and Noct keep coded notes, hand-drawn treasure maps, and packets of sweets in here: things they're not technically supposed to have. Things that feel a little rebellious and illicit. 

Ignis' fault, if anyone asks. It's his job to take responsibility, to protect the Prince's person from trouble and scandal. But somehow no one's ever discovered their secret, even though Noct was never all that subtle about it. It seems that no one pays much attention to a pair of eight and eleven year olds, royal or not. 

Maybe they ought to. There are only two things in the bottom of the chest, on this day: an antique book and an ironwood box, long and thin, sealed with a gold-plated clasp. Ignis takes both items, slides them into his backpack, replaces the false bottom of the chest, and piles Noct's things back into it.

Quickly, quickly. He's _really_ not supposed to have what's in the box. If he gets caught carrying it, there'll be more hell to pay than getting sent home to his Uncle without any supper -- there could be formal charges, especially if anyone realizes where he got it. Cor's office is always locked, and for good reason.

_Someone might get hurt,_ Ignis thinks, and smiles a small, eager smile as he slips out the door.

The Glaive on guard beside Noct's door doesn't react, staring straight ahead as always. Ignis wonders if he even saw him. It might be better if he didn't, although maybe not? (Again with not being noticed or cared about. That prickles Ignis' ego, normally, but perhaps it's useful today.) 

The room he's heading to isn't guarded, and it's only nominally locked -- Ignis pops the latch with practiced ease, locking it behind him as he goes. Beyond it is an empty sitting room, with a wide stone fireplace on one side and a window to the outside on the other. 

Ignis uses the window when he and Noct want to sneak out to the gardens, and the fireplace when they want to sneak _in_. The Crystal has shown Noct many of the secret passages through the Citadel, hidden ways meant for the mystic Kings. Ignis has mapped out the rest, exploring with a flashlight when the adults think he's in bed. 

It takes him no more than a second to unlatch the sliding wall and push it open, no more than another to vanish inside. Three minutes to rest on the other side, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. It's scary back here, just a low, dusty hallway scarcely more than a foot wide. The only light leaks in through cracks in the brickwork, yellow and wan, painting broken patterns on the stone floor. After a moment Ignis stands, shrugs his backpack onto both shoulders, and presses onward. 

Three turns to the left, one to the right, down several long hallways and up onto the crumbling remains of a staircase. The stairs go nowhere, since the top story has long since fallen away; instead they lead to a chasm so deep that Ignis can't see the bottom, though he's careful to stay off the top few steps. (If he were to look directly downward, then perhaps he could see the bottom, fifty stories down though it may be... but that's an intriguing thought for another day, and a length of stout rope). 

He can hear a faint voice on the other side of the left-hand wall, someone talking in the room beyond, but he can't make out the words. On the right-hand side there's a hole in the wall, just larger than Ignis' shoulders. Its edges hug the outlines of missing bricks. He pushes his bag through first, compressing it until it fits the shape of the book and the box so that nothing will snag, and then wriggles his way in behind it.

He takes a short break on the other side, staring up into a jagged tunnel of brickwork and steel. It's a bit wider than he is; enough to make it easy to fall. The wind whistles through it, down and down, tugging at the bookbag in his hands. He's not sure whether this vertical climb is another secret passage, or simply a space between walls -- it seems too small for the former. Surely King Regis couldn't make his way through here? 

Either way, Ignis had first discovered it two years ago, climbing upward in a daze. He'd been mesmerized by the need to reach the top, driven onward by a feeling he couldn't understand, even when the climb had gotten terrifying. 

And then he'd tumbled into the room at the top, and he'd understood why.

This time the climb is even tougher, since he's grown a lot. He can't climb freely, the way he did before, like he'd been scrambling up a long ladder. Instead he wedges the soles of his shoes against the front wall and leans back, clutching the bag against his belly. The opposite wall feels cold against the back of his shirt, even through his suit jacket, and it occurs to him that his Uncle will be upset -- he's definitely going to dirty it.

No matter. He skips his left foot as far up the wall as it'll go, leans back to give himself leverage, and pushes his way upward. Again. Again. By the time five minutes are up, he's trembling, breathing hard, wedged between parallel walls like an inchworm. The muscles over his stomach are screaming. _Should've listened to Gladiolus_ , he thinks. _Maybe there's something to those 'ab crunches' of his._ But he pushes onward, inch by inch, letting his breathing recover between each desperate shove upward. 

_Noct,_ he thinks, when it gets too hard to go on. _Noct, this is for Noct_ , and then he can climb again. 

The passage grows narrower at the top. He'd forgotten about that part; it hadn't mattered much when he was smaller. Now he fills much more of the space, and the bricks that poke out above him push his head and shoulders forward. The narrow angle drives him to put more and more of his weight on his legs, until his thighs start to tremble, too. He can feel his heart hammering against the bag in his arms. _Drop it,_ his instincts whisper. _Let it fall, you have to climb, have to get out get out **get out**_. He forces the feeling down. Calculates each step, neat dress shoes wedged into cracks and crevasses.

At last he reaches the hole at the top, little more than a dark shadow on the opposite wall. There's a moment of panic, of fear: it looks too small for him, too small to get through. He can barely shove the bag through it. But he can't go back down, not the way he's shaking. He knows he'll never make it. Instead he digs his toes into the brick, takes a deep breath, and pushes off toward the opening. 

Ignis swings outward, hands outstretched. For a long instant there's nothing whatsoever at his back, and only the chasm below; he's flying, floating across the gap on his toes. It's among the most frightening things he's even known -- almost worse than seeing Noct come back from his day trip broken and small, because at least that hadn't been all on him. This is just him, just Ignis Scientia alone, and his mind yammers _not good enough not strong not wise not going to make it_ for the single, eternal second it takes to cross. Then his hands grip the broken edge of the brick, and he's yanking himself upward and through, his upper body rock-hard with effort. 

His shoulders stick halfway through, pinning his elbows. He's stuck, gods-damn it!, and the intelligent part of him thinks _language, Ignis_ even as the animal part of him starts to writhe. His hands are trapped at his sides, but they still scrabble at the wall, snapping his fingernails, smearing the legs of his smart trousers with spots of blood. He pushes and pushes, to no avail. At last he opens his mouth to scream, to snarl out his endless rage at a world that _will not let him protect Noct_ , and somehow the exhalation does it: makes him small enough to sunfish through, bruising both shoulders as he wrenches them past the bricks. There's a long tearing sound -- the back of his jacket, catching on an outcrop -- and then his torso is on the other side of the hole, and the rest of him follows. 

The bag is enough to break his fall, because it's only a foot or so down to the floor. He lies there against the cold stone, stretched out like a landed fish, hugging his backpack until the sound of his heart slamming against his ribcage fades away. There's another sound behind it: soft, musical, like a distant tune sung by whispering, murmuring ghosts. Ignis knows it. He's heard it all his life, or at least as long as he can recall. 

He doesn't remember much from before Insomnia, before Noct. 

_A trauma reaction_ , they'd said, when they'd brought him to live with his Uncle. _It's not surprising, given all he's been through_. But he doesn't remember what he's been through, doesn't remember Tenebrae or his lost family. Instead he remembers this music, this _feeling_ , spreading through his dreams like ink. 

It's the sound the Light makes. 

Ignis stands, aches forgotten, awash with wonder. The Crystal itself is no more than a few feet away, cradled in a net of jeweled chains. Its surface is smooth and dark, yet open within, gaping like a geode or a cracked egg. The center of it swims with Light, soft wisps of ultramarine and lapis lazuli that stretch forth as if reaching for Ignis. The tiny points of crystal inside it twinkle like stars at night, a distant galaxy that shifts as he walks closer. The Crystal is no more than a few feet deep, or so it seems, but he cannot see all the way to the center. It's not meant for him. 

He comes to a stop a few feet away, gives his best and most formal bow, and lowers himself to the ground, sitting neatly with his heels beneath his rear. He's come here for this, for the Crystal, come to beg it to seal him to Noct. That's supposed to happen later -- _when you're older_ , as his Uncle always says. There's supposed to be a formal ceremony, with Noct and the King and everyone, but Ignis can't wait. Not any longer. 

Noct has already been hurt because of him, because he wasn't there. Because he's too weak to protect him. Ignis has to become his bonded retainer now, right now; there's something he has to do, something _only he_ can do, and it's coming soon. It might already be too late. He's had this feeling since the attack, but it's grown to a fever pitch in the last few days, screaming in his head when he tries to sleep. He dreams of nothing but Light, nothing but his calling: nothing but killing and pain, and the need to take those things into himself for his Prince, his King. 

Nothing but love, burning him up like fire. 

From the bag he draws the book, and opens it to the proper page: _An Oathe Of Homage And Service For Lyfe, As To Kings Of Olde_. It's ten lines of (vaguely) rhyming poetry, beginning with: 

> Let me become thy liege-man of life and limbe and truth /  
>  Long-standing in thy service 'gainst hate and blade and wroth.

Ignis reads through it quickly, one last time, and then opens the box he stole from Cor's office.

Nestled in crushed red velvet are a pair of ornate daggers, wicked sharp. _Real_ knives, not just training pieces -- these are the kind the gallant Kingsglaive carry to battle for the King. The hilts are silver, formed in the shape of curling wings, with a jewel of blue tourmaline set in the center. Ignis lifts one of them in his hands, moving with reverence, and turns it so the fuller in the center of the blade shines with the Light of the Crystal. He's never seen anything half so beautiful, never. These blades call to his heart. 

He lays the dagger before him, point toward the Crystal, and bows over it once more, straight-backed and formal. His blood rushes fast again, pounding in his ears. It's a warning, a promise: if he fails now, if he's rejected by the Crystal, he'll never leave this place. He's read more than enough to know that the Crystal judges men and women alike, and it smites the unworthy. Those who dare to approach it with untrue hearts must die. 

No one will even hear him scream. (The Crystal room is soundproof for a reason.) 

_I am Ignis Scientia, and my heart is true,_ he thinks, forming it into a prayer. _I swear it. Please, give me the power to protect my Prince, my friend. I love him._

He thinks of Noct, the best thing he has. The most precious thing there is in the whole world. His very best friend. Little Noctis, who hugs him and jokes with him and follows fearlessly after him through kitchens, across gardens, over rooftops. He's not like that now. Since the attack he's been quiet and withdrawn, sullen and hurt, but Ignis still loves him just as much. As much as ever. 

Maybe even _more_ , because Noct needs him, and Ignis needs to be needed. 

He bows his head, lets his love fill him until there's no room for anything else, and lifts the knife. He looks down at the page one last time, intending to recite the poem, but all of a sudden it looks vapid and empty. It's a bunch of doggerel, lies meant for little children. But it doesn't matter, not really. The words were never the point. The only thing that matters is--

"Blood," Ignis says, and curls both hands around the blade, just beneath the hilt. "My blood, my life for Noctis Lucis Caelum." He draws his hands downward, slowly, opening his palms like parchment, and the patter of blood striking stone is the sound the Light makes as it bursts forth from the Crystal.

The Crystal's brilliance grows and grows before his eyes, filling him up, flowing into him until he's lost in it. Until he's blinded. He's only distantly aware of the pain, of the steel he's clutching in his bleeding hands, of the promise he intended to make. Instead he's just a boy, full of fear and rising panic, because all of a sudden _he can't see_. There's nothing before him but darkness, nothing at all. No light. No knowledge. No guidance. The Crystal isn't with him.

Ignis gasps in terror, sucking in breath. Everything in him wants to grope at the darkness around him, to use his hands to find an exit and stumble through it. He nearly drops the knife. Then some part of him -- the cold, fierce part that drove him to come here in the first place -- sparks within him, curling like a tiny lick of flame. It warms him and helps him master his fear. He forces his breathing to slow, in for a four-count and out for a four-count, the way his Uncle taught him. Then he gathers his wayward thoughts and feelings, lining them up like pieces on a game board. Here is _fear of failure_ and _loneliness_ and _anxiety_ ; there is _being too small, an incapable child, someone no one but Noct yet trusts_. 

He still can't see, not a single thing, so he places that fear behind all the others, furthest of all: _a failure of vision_. It looms inside him like the big boss in one of Noct's games, crouching, drooling. Waiting for him. Waiting for him to falter, so it can finally pounce and consume him. 

Nothing he knows can beat it, not even the King. Not even the Crystal itself. It's the fear at the heart of every strategist, every advisor. _I will fail,_ it whispers, in a voice he recognizes as his own. _I'll miss something, something obvious, something I should have seen coming. My advice will be wrong, and there won't ever be a chance to take it back. My loved ones will suffer and die because of it._

_**Noct** will suffer and die, because of me, and I will wander forever in the dark._

Ignis bows his head before the Crystal, weeping, bleeding alone in a room that should've been barred to him. He's no hero, no destined Warrior of Light; he's nothing but an arrogant boy who reached too far too fast, like Icarus the Flyer in the storybooks he likes to read to Noct.

But the small flame within him is still there, still burning. It's brand new, that fire, new and vulnerable. It needs fuel, the way a small pile of sticks from the garden do when Noct's playing with matches (with Ignis' close supervision, naturally, and a bowl of water near to hand.) So he holds it, cradling it within his heart, gathering it close as his hands clamp down around the knife. 

Cutting deeper, burning hotter. 

"Please," he gasps, the first words he's spoken aloud since his foolish oath. "Help me. Give me the power, make me strong. I'll pay it, I'll pay the price, just..." He grits his teeth, snarling. " _Noct!_ He's all that matters to me. I don't care if I fail! Just let me help him! Let me walk by his side like I promised, til the end!"

Nothing happens. The Crystal doesn't care. He was right about the poetry, about the book: no words will give him the power. Instead Ignis clutches his knife, bows his head, and lets his rage and frustration rise inside him like a volcano, overwhelming. 

Overwhelm. 

Sagefire. 

The Light builds within him, filling him, burning him away. It scars him like jagged lightning, bursting from his eye sockets, cracking his skin to ash. He screams aloud -- in agony, in fury, in triumph -- and lets it transform him, like he wanted. Like he asked. Like the phoenix, his namesake, the seal of House Scientia. _Ex meis cineribus renascor._

But no fire can burn forever. 

When it's over, he lifts his head again, and he is no longer small, no longer weak. The blade of his dagger fits neatly between his scarred, gloved hands, and the long, weighted coat of the Kingsglaive hangs from his shoulders, light as a feather. He cannot see his hands before him, cannot see the knife that cuts him -- there's nothing but an ocean of flat matte black beyond his guardian visor -- but there's no fear in that, not anymore. This is _his_ darkness. 

He knows it well. 

He fears no failure, because he has already failed. The worst has come to pass. Noct is gone, dead forever, and Ignis cannot follow him; not yet, not as long as he draws breath. He promised. Yet there are other things for him, now, other small and wonderful joys. His friends, first and foremost: Gladio and Prompto, always, because they stood by him when he was weak and alone. A mighty, gentle hand at his elbow to guide him, to pick him up after the fight; a bright voice saying _remember this one, Iggy? When Noct tried to warp-strike across to the balcony, and fell right in that dumpster instead?_ The sizzle of steak on a hot grill, and the sharp scent of cumin as it spatters in oil. The sound the road makes as it scrapes beneath his feet, mile after mile. The slide of his lance in his gloves as he spins it, as he snaps it downward to kill, and the burn in his thighs as he crouches, ready to spring. Bad jokes. Good coffee. And the memory, always the memory of Noct: curled against him, fast asleep, safe forever in his arms.

The board lies overturned at Ignis' feet, the game finished once and for all, but he fears not the outcome. He knows, now: victory has walked with him all along. He's always held every piece.

He's lost his Prince, his King, his sole "hobby", his dearest and oldest friend... yet no one can ever take Noct away, because Ignis carries him in his heart, forever. _Always_. Til the end. 

Ignis is a Warrior of Light, and the Dawn is the only light he sees. 

He knows all of these things and more as he burns alive, as the Crystal grants him its favor and links him to Noctis for life. They come to him not as facts or as glimpses of the future, or even as coherent thoughts; instead he feels them, because that's Ignis' greatest strength. Not courage or intelligence or depth of strategy, but sheer force of will, a lifelong fire that will not be denied. He burns with it, on his knees before the Crystal. His oath, his promise, his love.

And then he forgets all of it, because he's young yet, still small and weak, and some truths are too great for him to hold. All that's left is the only thing he came in with, other than stolen daggers and a borrowed book of nonsense. All that's left is his winning piece, the Black King. The only thing that ever mattered to him. 

Just Noct.

The stone is wet and cold beneath his cheek; it's knocked his glasses askew. He picks himself up off the floor in front of the Crystal, wincing at the mess he's made of his hands. He sighs down at them, at the sizable flaps he's cut into both of his palms, and he feels like a bit of a fool. The book is all bloody, Cor's knife and knife box are bloody, his shoes and socks and trousers are awash with blood. 

His dear Uncle is going to ground him for. a bloody. _year_.

But he's got it. He's got the fire, the power. When he shuts his eyes he can feel Noct's presence as if he's right beside him, fast asleep and safe as houses. He's two floors down and halfway across the Citadel, yet Noct feels close enough to touch, to hold: a skirl of soft, shy laughter, a small hand in Ignis' own. Ignis smiles. He glances down at the daggers, his own very first pair of daggers, and they vanish in twin flashes of blue. The contents of Noct's Armiger have become: one wooden sword, a half-finished bag of Firaga Hot Crisps, a well-loved storybook about kittens and/or their mittens (so that's where that went!), one tiny feather, and two sharp daggers.

Ignis shrugs out of his torn jacket, recalls one of his new blades, cuts both the sleeves off, and winds them over his wounded palms to stop the bleeding. All of this hurts, but not too badly; he's already much more difficult to kill than he'd been just a moment ago. The blood loss and nerve damage you get when you slice your own hands near to the bone have been downgraded from _things that will leave you dead or crippled for life_ to _a temporary interruption of normal service, our sincerest apologies for the inconvenience_. 

In short, things are _finally_ the way they ought to be.

Ignis shoves the box and the book into his bag, along with what's left of his jacket. He'll have to get a servant in here with a mop for the rest -- one true of heart, preferably, or there'll be even more of a bloody mess -- but that can come later.

Just then, his flip phone buzzes. It's a bit of a challenge to get it out of his front trouser pocket with his palm wrapped in an entire coatsleeve, but he manages. Opening it is only slightly less of a challenge. He ends up using the tips of his fingers on both hands to do it, parting it like a book. 

It's King Regis' number, the one _for emergencies only_. The messages say:

Ignis

what have you DONE?

come here

immediately

Ignis taps out _yes, Your Majesty_ (laboriously, as this seems to be the final level of the SMS-with-no-hands challenge!), sends the message, and puts his phone away. Then he bows before the Crystal, sets his shoulders, and walks out through the front door, to the great surprise of no less than four of the King's finest guards.

_I'm coming, Noct. Wait for me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _then he had to wait five years for formal Crownsguard training and was **insufferable** about it the entire time, the end._
> 
> also I just realized that Noctis does nothing in this but sleep, which: yep. but chapter 2 will be Noct's part of the story: the aftermath of Iggy's oath, along with the after-aftermath.
> 
> Little Iggy has a late-90s era cell phone, naturally (it's a Mooglerola StarTAC, if you must ask.) He also has 99 LV in Determination: the will to keep living, the resolve to change fate.


	2. And What Follows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter 2 is Noct's part: the aftermath of Iggy's oath, along with the after-aftermath.

Noct wakes abruptly, wincing beneath a sudden flood of light. For an instant he sees flashing swords, a splash of blood -- but Carbuncle is still with him, so he can see it's just Karina, framed in the light beyond the doorway. Her eyes are wide, and she's wringing his jacket in her hands. 

_Wrinkled it,_ he thinks to himself. He feels warm and muzzy, a little like he's still dreaming. _Iggy's going to be mad._

"It's Master Scientia," his governess gasps. She hands him the jacket and turns to the bureau, tossing a pair of pants after it, and _then_ he's awake. The pants don't even _match_.

"Come quickly, Highness!"

He dresses in a daze, shoving both legs into his pants at once. He should be more careful of his back, but Karina's already pulling his wheelchair from its spot in the corner, turning it so it faces the door. He's never seen her move so fast. By the time it occurs to him that it usually hurts to shrug his shirt on, she's yanking the covers back.

She stops there, as if remembering. "Brace yourself, Your Highness," she says, soft and kind, and Noct screws his eyes shut. Her arms tuck under his shoulders, beneath his knees, framing the bandage in the middle. He tries his hardest not to freeze -- it's always worse when he tenses up. Like tearing. Like fire. 

He winces as she lifts him, flinching beneath a massive blow that never comes. Then he's sitting in his chair, blinking in the light. For a single, glorious instant, he thinks: _it didn't--_

No, it did. It _did_ hurt. He can feel the pain, crawling up from the wound in his lower back like a curl of flame. It's as bad as it ever was, bad enough to make him cry... but it's also, all of a sudden, much further away? He explores the feeling as Karina wheels him into the hall. 

He thinks of the first time he'd ever opened his Armiger, six years old, at his father's gentle urging. It'd felt a little like being ripped open, like shoving the token he'd been given inside his chest beside his lungs and his guts. He'd cried for hours afterward, sobbing into Ignis' shoulder. It still hurts every time he summons something, but he's used to it, now. It's okay. It's familiar. No big deal.

His back feels like that right now, for the first time since the attack. Agony, sure, but he feels equal to it, like he grew a little overnight. Like he's stronger. The feeling is strange and new, so he worries at it like a missing tooth, poking at it with his mind. 

_Iggy,_ he thinks, because that's what it feels like. Ignis is warm and quiet, like a blanket in the sun or a hot bath; Ignis is safe. Right now he feels almost close enough to touch, which is weird, because Karina has been taking him to Ignis for a while... but they're not getting any closer? It's still like Iggy is right by his side. And Karina is freaking out behind his chair, like she wants to start jogging through the halls of the Citadel, but Noct doesn't get why. He can tell Ignis is fine. 

Well, maybe not? The feeling is closer to _a non-fatal wound_. If this were a game, his heart-meter would be blinking. But Ignis isn't blinking... not a jot, as he might say. He just feels excited, bright as a spark within Noct's mind. What is it Gladio always says?

_Stoked_. Like the fireplace in Noct's room.

He and Karina turn a corner, and the feeling snaps from close to _closer_. Noct looks up to see Ignis standing at the foot of the stairs to the upper level. The Crystal stairs, the stairs they're never supposed to climb. Ignis is in the middle of a small crowd of adults, waving one serious, cloth-wrapped hand like a scientist working through a hypothesis at a chalkboard. The cloth is red, wet: a thin fan of blood flicks from Ignis' fingertips when he shakes his hand, and there's a trail of it smeared down the stairs.

Noct thinks of yellow streetlights, of a road wet with blood. His own. But that same feeling of wellness is still baking off Ignis like steam, so it must be okay. It's not like the Marilith. This is something else.

Karina pushes him a little closer. With a start, Noct realizes that the biggest adult is Clarus, and the second biggest is his Dad. Clarus' face is red with anger, but most of the grown-ups are wearing a nervous look, close to fear, as if something's spooked them. Even Noct's father looks a little taken aback; the groove between his eyebrows cuts deep.

Noct doesn't get why. It's just Iggy. 

Iggy's never scary.

Noct smiles and reaches for him, leaning forward in the chair. Karina cries _Your Highness!_ at his back, and then Ignis looks over and sees him.

" _Noct!_ "

The adults part for Ignis like ceremonial guards -- the fancy kind, the ones that only come out when his father's on his throne. Ignis is at his side in the next instant, grinning beneath his glasses. Up close, there's way more blood than Noct thought there was. There's a lot. Ignis' shirtsleeves are soaked in it. 

They'll never wash out white again. 

"You're hurt," Noct says.

"For you," Ignis shrugs. The smile doesn't leave his face. "A small sacrifice."

"Iggy..." Noct murmurs, suddenly unsure. He reaches for Ignis' shoulder, to comfort him, and the moment they touch it happens: Noct's magic rises inside him like a wave, fierce and warm. It bursts out of him, filling the air around them with aqua sparks that dance like dust motes in the sun. Noct's never felt this before -- he's never _healed_ anyone -- but the trick of it comes to him as if he'd merely forgotten it, and that blinking-heart-meter feeling slips away from them like a bad dream. 

Ignis' grin falters in the face of it, just for an instant, and then comes back new and different. 

Eager. Proud. Full of love.

\---

Noct stares out the window as the scenery rushes by, a blur of dead and twisted brown. It's not even nice in Gralea, he thinks; it's drier out here than Hammerhead, and that's saying a lot. He feels a flood of shame at the thought. It's awful of him not to appreciate this, awful to sit on this stupid train and stare out the window and hate himself for seeing. Awful, like agony, to sit across from Ignis and watch him bow his head beneath dark glasses, to feel that blinking-heart feeling grow and grow between them.

The least this dogshit world could do is be beautiful enough to be worth the cost. 

Noct remembers, thinking back. Ignis had been cross with him the morning after he'd taken his oath, for healing his hands so perfectly... he'd wanted scars, scars to prove his loyalty. He has them, now, worse than Gladio. Nobody on the train will look at him, nobody but Noct. Noct keeps on looking at Ignis, looking at his wound and then looking out the window, burning anew with shame and hurt. It hisses inside him like acid. All he can do is hope that Ignis can't feel it as it eats his guts away.

He keeps thinking _not my Iggy_ , but it's too late. His worthless power sparks within him again, reaching out, sliding uselessly over the scar tissue that hides Ignis' eye. Over the surface of Ignis' heart, cracked wide open with pain and self-loathing. None of it will take. Noct's power skips off Ignis' wounded eyes like a stone spun at a still lake; it slips from his soul the way his glasses used to shine in the sun, hiding his thoughts. 

Whatever happened is beyond Noct, beyond the power of an impotent Prince to heal. And Ignis won't talk about it.

He just says it was _a sacrifice_ , and Noct knows. He knows, he knows, he _knows_ that Ignis always says what he means. He's too precise to be otherwise. He wouldn't use those words if he meant _an accident_ or _wounded in the line of duty_.

Ignis says _sacrifice_ , and he means _for you, Noct. My eyes for you, my heart. My life for you, because I love you._ And Noctis burns again, staring out the window at the tumbleweeds. 

\---

Later, as he struggles against the Crystal's unearthly grip, he will realize that he's hardly said anything to Ignis, not since he was wounded. He will realize, to his horror, that it's too late: that _we're here for you_ and _not at his expense_ is all of it, all he's ever going to get. It's not enough to help Iggy, not nearly enough to heal his heart the way Noct longs to. 

Gods, he didn't even _try_.

Gladio was right. He's selfish. He's a coward. He's too weak.

\---

As Noct floats within the Crystal, it shows him what Ignis did for him in Altissia, the gift he gave. He watches from above as his oldest friend screams and burns, clawing at his face, sacrificing a lifetime of vision and skill for Noct's sake. For love, for the only love Ignis has ever known. Noct feels it, too, as it fills him and ruins him. He feels it burst from his eye like a star gone supernova: _failure_ , _always_ , _not enough_. Meaningless, beautiful, impotent love, as mighty as a burning sun. 

Still.

Not. 

Enough.

Ignis' greatest agony is not the blindness, not the pain. It's _can't save Noct_ , and it echoes inside him like a death knell as the power leaves him. As Ardyn walks away. It rips him apart, until all he can do is stagger to his King's side and beg forgiveness. 

Noct watches through the Crystal as Ignis sews himself back together over ten long years, all the broken pieces one by one. A patchwork heart. A blind scarecrow, wandering through the darkness alone, picking through empty rocks and tombs, searching for a single scrap of hope. 

There is nothing. Nothing but the one thing. All that's left. 

_Can't, can't. Can't save Noct._

It's a kind of Light, that desperate, lonely love. It flows into Noct along with the Light from Prompto and Gladio and all the others, and it fills him up with power. It feels like he's a cellphone battery being charged, ready for the best game of King's Knight ever; it's warm and wonderful, like a wool blanket set aside for him, like fresh-baked berry pastries sprinkled with sugar. It's a kiss against his forehead, driving his nightmares away. 

He can't give Ignis anything in return, not a thing. He calls and calls to him through the darkness, begging him to hear, but he doesn't think that Ignis ever does. He doesn't think Ignis ever knows that Noct loves him just as much, as much as anything.

Reflection takes forever. 

\---

When he hops down from the truck in Hammerhead, Noct's first thought is that his friends look surprisingly good, given the torment he saw through the Crystal. _Ignis_ looks good: his hair is longer in the front, brushed up and back in a style somewhere between the young-professional look he'd worn at seventeen and the spikes he'd returned to later, and he's found himself a mirrored visor to cover his eyes. Noct smiles at him and thumps his shoulder, and Ignis says _you kept us waiting_. When they head into the diner he moves with ease, effortless as ever. He's not using his cane.

Not a scarecrow after all, then. More like a quilt, like the one Noct had on his bed as a child: straight lines, geometric shapes, and neat, careful stitching. Order and warmth, brought forth from a needle and a basket of scraps. 

Somehow it's not as surprising as it might have been. 

Ignis was always great at mending.

They sit together in the diner and speak of destiny, of one final quest, and then the time comes to get ready. It feels strange to watch his friends lay out curatives and see to their weapons, all of them ten years older. The Glaive uniforms in the Armiger pull tight across his friends' shoulders, but they still fit... barely. And beneath them, in the garment bag that should've held his tuxedo: Noct's royal raiment, the final proof that his father knew his fate all along. It feels faintly ridiculous on his back, bedecked with chains and coins that clink softly over his shoulders whenever he moves, and it also feels like the most fitting thing he's ever worn. He knows he'll keep it on til the end.

He's grateful for the knee brace, too, because his leg's even worse now. Prompto and Gladio and Ignis have to make room for his limp as they walk in from the road. He gets the feeling his friends understand; he gets the feeling that they're not the same, either. He can't stop watching Ignis as he walks, unseeing but perfectly balanced. The rocks that turn beneath his boots are nothing to him. After a while, Noct notices him stumble just a bit, though, scuffing the soles of his boots in the dirt before righting himself. The sight stings Noct's heart... right up until Gladio does the same thing a few minutes later, muttering under his breath. 

At last, Prompto spots the ruins west of Insomnia on the horizon, rising into the dark like smoke. The full moon shines down over them, over everything, casting a silver spell. Their last night together. Noct's last night. They pick their way through the ruins and up into the canyon, but Noct feels like he's only barely there. He's too busy thinking of his friends. There are things he needs to say to them, as a group and in private. Things he wanted them to hear when he was inside the Crystal. 

_You're the best Shield I could've asked for, Gladio. In a thousand years it's you they're going to remember -- not your Dad, not Gilgamesh. It'll be Iris and Gladio Amicitia, and you both need to be here to see it. Walk away when we're finished tomorrow, okay? Don't die for some stupid oath._

_Listen to your King: just get me to the throne room alive, and after that you've done your job. The last time doesn't count._

and

_You're my best friend, Prom. The best friend I ever had. I'm so damn glad we met... every day I'm thankful that Luna wrote you that letter, because my life would've been so much worse without you, dude. I'm sorry I hurt you. I didn't mean to. Don't give up._

_Remember what we promised in Gralea. I can't stay to make Insomnia a place where everyone's welcome, so you're gonna have to do it for the both of us. I'm counting on you._

Ignis will be harder. He's stubborn, and he's spent his whole life negotiating, using his voice and his wit to get what he wants. Noct needs to find the right words for him, because if he doesn't, he knows Ignis will insist on joining him. He'll die fighting Ardyn, or he'll kill himself afterward, or he'll find some other way to end himself for Noct. He'll just keep giving and giving, like the tree in the storybook he used to read to Noct -- the kind, gentle tree that gave and gave and gave until there was literally nothing left. 

Noct can't let that happen. He can't let Iggy die that way. And he _will_ die that way, given half the chance, broken and ruined and _gone_. It's what he wants. Noct loves that about Ignis, because it's for him and it's precious, a gift greater than gold, but he hates it, too. 

Because it's for him. Because it's too precious. Because _can't save Noct_ can't be everything Ignis is. He can't let that be the last thing Ignis feels... not forever, not always.

No. Noct wants his friend to grow back all of the branches he cut off for his Prince; he wants his Ignis to live and die with a full and flowering heart. He's never been good with words, but he knows he's got to do something, _say_ something, to fix it before it's too late.

\---

They set up camp on the hill above the city, one last time. There's no haven up here, but the demons keep their distance, as if they know how strong Noct's friends have become in his absence. It's just the four of them around the fire, like old times come round again, and Noct tells them how it's been, and how it's going to be.

_I've made my peace_ , he says, and _you guys... are the best_.

Afterward there's time to talk to each of them alone, and he somehow manages to say the things he's wanted to say. 

When he gets to the part about Gralea, Prompto starts crying, a ton of messy, red-faced, open tears, wiping his eyes like he's trying to hide. Seeing it starts Noct crying, too, quietly at first and then louder. By the end they're holding each other, making foolish forever promises through the tears, and they sob like that together for a while.

It's something Noct didn't know he needed, that cry. Honest and real. A fine last memory of his high-school friend, the one who'll always be by his side. The best buddy he ever dreamed of.

Then there's Gladio, all gruff-voiced bluster and thumps to Noct's shoulder. Noct tells him to live through the last battle, to go home afterward, and he doesn't take it well; he yells about what it means to be the King's Shield, and Noct yells back. At last, Noct stands tall and _orders_ him to live, the way Noct's father might've, and that's what does it: Gladio's mouth snaps shut like a trap. In the next moment Gladio's hugging him -- or crushing him, maybe, three hundred pounds of warm muscle and leather -- muttering _I always knew you could do it, kid. Can't promise anything, but I'll try. For you, Your Majesty._

It's the most he's going to get, and Noct knows it. But it feels right, so he's pretty sure that Gladio's little sister will see him come home again. Someday he'll have kids of his own, maybe: a boy and a girl, just like him and Iris. 

Standing there together, saying goodbye, Noct can almost see them in Gladio. He's going to be a great Dad. Like Clarus was.

Ignis is the last, because he was the first. Noct tells him the truth: _I'll always have you in my heart_. And _thanks for everything, Iggy_. Ignis puts his hand out, and Noct squeezes it in both of his own, just like the day they met. So long ago, when they were both so small. Silent tears track down Ignis' face, and it occurs to Noct that he's never seen him cry like that. Not openly, not in all the years they've been together. Not even when Noct was wounded.

There's only one thing to do, and that's to pull Ignis close. Strong arms fold around Noct like they're kids again, like he's _home_ , and it takes everything he has not to cry, too. 

"Don't die tomorrow," he begs, burying his face in Ignis' shoulder. "Please, don't give up. I want you to live."

Ignis turns his face downward, nuzzles Noct's hair. "Noct," he whispers. "I'm sorry. I can't, I can't live without you, you're all I have. I..."

Noct hugs him tighter. "No, Iggy, it's okay. It's okay. You already saved me."

"What?" Ignis' voice is little more than an intake of breath, shot through with hope. 

Noct fills his lungs and takes half a step back, so he can look up at Ignis without leaving the circle of his arms. He can just make out his right eye beneath the visor: soft, silvery, full of Light. 

"You saved me every day of my life, Ignis. Every day. If you hadn't bonded with me when you did, I wouldn't have been strong enough to go to Tenebrae, to meet Luna. I'd never have learned to walk again." Ignis opens his mouth to speak, to cut Noct off, but Noct keeps going. "If you hadn't been there in junior high, when I was depressed, before I met Prompto... I would've killed myself. I wanted to. I had that bottle of pills, the ones for my back, and I... one night I almost took all of them. But I couldn't stand the thought of leaving you like that, all alone, so I didn't." 

Ignis swallows. "You never told me."

Noct laughs, soft and bitter. "Right, what was I gonna say? 'Hey Iggy, surprise! I'm the Crown Prince of Lucis, and guess what: I'm suicidal! Sorry I'm this much of a fuckup'?"

"You're not a fuckup, Noct." That's an automatic reaction, Noct thinks. His Advisor, speaking on autopilot, gentle as ever.

Noct shrugs, and takes a step back. "Nah, not anymore. Thanks to you. If you hadn't been there -- after Insomnia fell, in Cartanica -- I'd be dead a million times over. If you hadn't put on the Ring, I'd..."

"You know, then." It's barely a whisper.

"Yeah. The Crystal showed me."

Ignis shakes his head. The action dislodges another tear, and Noct watches it slide from his dead eye as he turns away, bows his head. "I couldn't save you. I couldn't change your fate. I tried, I tried. I offered _everything_ , but the Kings wouldn't let me." He wipes at his face beneath the visor. "My sacrifice was for nothing. All for naught."

"No!" Noct's outburst surprises him, gets Ignis to turn back. "That's not true. If you hadn't worn the ring, Ardyn... he would've killed you. It's what he wanted from the start. Another trial for me. Another torture."

"He wanted to...?"

"Yeah. He was going to hurt me, and you would have fought him to make him stop, and I would've lost you and Luna both. And after I woke up, I... I wouldn't have made it without you." 

Ignis frowns. "You don't know that."

"The hell I don't. I told you: the Crystal showed me. I _saw_ it, Iggy. I saw..."

Himself, dead in the sleeper car on the train to Cartanica, because he'd always kept that bottle of pills topped off. A world in which the Dawn never came to the dead cinder that was Eos, because Noct couldn't find his way out of the darkness without his Advisor.

He trails off, unwilling to hurt Ignis by speaking it aloud. "I saw... different possibilities, in a bunch of different worlds. But here, right now, there's only one thing that still needs to happen. I've got to die to bring back the Dawn, because this world pays for them all."

Ignis' face twists with rage. "Then curse our rotten luck for being born in it! Curse the Astrals, damn the Kings, damn the fate that'll _take you away from me_ \--"

Noct cuts him off. "No! I don't want to be somebody else, Iggy. This is me. This is my life." He looks down at himself, at his royal raiment and pointed boots, and then back up at Ignis -- at the scar that marks his face, the courage he wears like a blazon. Flame proper, on a field of tenné. "I'm me, and I only want you to be you." 

"Even if I am... like this? Even if I can't see you?" The question is soft, hesitant.

"You seem fine to me, Specs." Noct can't keep the love out of his voice, the wish he's always made for Ignis' happiness; he's warm with it. He can't stop himself from smacking Ignis' shoulder, the way he did in Hammerhead, so that Ignis will know he really means it. "I told you, you saved me. Hell, you're saving me right now." 

For an instant he's not sure about the nickname, about 'Specs'. Maybe Ignis doesn't want to hear it anymore. Maybe it hits too close to home. But Ignis just sighs, a soft puff of breath. Relief, acceptance. Resignation.

"It wasn't for nothing," he breathes. "My sacrifice, my sight... it really did save you." There's wonder in his voice, wonder and pride, and a joy that starts to die off even as he speaks. "But I can't save you from this, can I?"

"No. You can't." Noct shuts his eyes, gathers his thoughts. He's known since the Marilith that he was never going to grow old. He was never going to rule Lucis the way his father did, the way Iggy always wished for him: surrounded by his friends, beloved by his people, with his wise and caring Advisor by his side. The Crystal was always going to take him screaming, ripped from the world in violence, and he's known it since he was eight years old. 

At least this way he can finally do the right thing. He can use his power to purge Ardyn and bring back the Dawn, for all those who've suffered in his name.

For Ignis, who has already suffered more than one man ever should.

"It's all right, Iggy. I'm never gonna leave you... you'll always carry me in your heart, too. And I'm ready to go. I'm ready to do this. Just promise me you'll keep going, okay? Promise me you'll be happy. And not one of those promises you used to give Dad, where you find some loophole that lets you do what you wanted anyway. You gotta mean it. You gotta swear."

Ignis shakes his head. "Those promises were... they were never for you, Noct. Never. They were only for others. I meant every promise I ever made to you, no matter how small."

"I know." He smiles. "That means a lot to me, Ignis."

"Why, then? Why won't you take me with you? My oath was _always_." Ignis' voice is small and lost; it hurts Noct to hear it.

"Because I love you," he says. He steps back into Ignis' space, reaches out to rest his hand over Ignis' heart. "Because life's short, and you only get one shot. When I look back and think of all those days I wasted, all the things I could've done... the things _we_ could've done, I can't stand it. I can't let that happen to you, too."

Noct turns the touch into an embrace, lifting his arms to pull him close. Iggy's shoulders are sprung steel beneath his Kingsglaive shirt, solid and broad; gods, he's gotten strong. Too strong to fall. Too strong to die before he's even lived. He's hot as an oven beneath Noct's hands, so alive, and Noct can't stand to let him go.

"This is your chance," he says into Ignis' shirt. "Your chance to live for yourself. Take what you want, Iggy."

"What I want, hmm?" he rumbles, thoughtful. The rich sound of it sends a shiver of want down Noct's spine. All of a sudden the mood's different, electric: Iggy's fingers card into his hair, stroking softly, before sliding down to turn up his chin. His gloved thumbs stretch upward from there, tickling Noct's cheekbones, mapping the edge of his beard. Ignis smiles down at him, loving and warm, and admires Noct's face with his hands.

"You're all I want, Noct. You always were."

"Iggy," Noct breathes, and Ignis bends toward the sound, still smiling. 

The kiss is soft and chaste at first, a careful press of lips. A feint offered with one of his daggers, to see how his opponent reacts. Noct surges up into it, tasting the scar on Iggy's lower lip, bumping his visor with his forehead. Just as on the battlefield, the next strike has him reeling: Ignis' hands on his lower back, linked above his scar and then sliding lower to squeeze, to pull him close. The searing heat of Ignis' mouth against his, the wet slide of his tongue as it presses inside. 

Hot, so hot and so good. Like fire. Iggy's magic fire. Noct reacts by instinct, pushing closer, moaning into Ignis' mouth. He's flush against him, rubbing shamelessly, and before long he's losing track of the kiss in his fervor. Not even the thick leather trousers of the Kingsglaive can hide how hard and hot Ignis feels against him, and he wants it, he _wants Iggy_.

"You have me, I'm here," Ignis murmurs, and Noct realizes he said that out loud.

"Please, I need you, Iggy, Igs..."

Ignis catches his grasping hands in his own, cradles them against his chest, kisses him again. Gentler, this time, softer. Slow. Full of love. It's sweet and soothing, and it banks the fire inside Noct until he's breathing steady, nestled against Iggy's chest. "Noct," Ignis says afterward, like a benediction, and for an instant Noct's afraid. How many times has he hinted at this? At _least_ a billion -- but Ignis always turns him down, so smooth and subtle that Noct used to wonder if he even got the idea. If that happens now, he'll straight-up _die_. He'll burst into flame and--

Ignis is still smiling. "Shall we retire to the tent?"

" _Yeah,_ " Noct says, and grabs his hand to pull him there, like they're a couple of teens sneaking out of the Citadel again. 

A moment of self-doubt follows. Prompto's sitting right by the tent, running a cloth through his gunbarrel. The rest of it's in a million pieces before him, spread out on a white cloth over their mini camp table. Not a great time to interrupt, and suddenly Noct's not sure if he even wants to. Is this going to change things? Is it going to be weird? Maybe they should...

At that moment, Prompto looks up. "Oh, uh," he says, and then he gets a better look at them, at their linked hands. " _Heyyyyyy._ Guess Gladio and I should take first watch, huh? See ya!" He gets up and dashes off, halfway around the tent in the next instant.

"Finger guns?" Ignis asks, once the sound of his footsteps has faded.

"You know it," Noct sighs, and adds the exaggerated wink Prompto just gave him to his mental shortlist of things he would've liked to have died without seeing. But no, seems like it's not going to be weird, just... a little awkward. "It's... good to see he's all right. I was worried about him, before I, uh, left. When Talcott said you guys don't hang out anymore... it hurt to hear."

"Mmm. I... do regret some of the things that were said after you left us. Perhaps it's time to remedy that."

Noct smiled. "Hope you do. I know you said I'm all you have, but Prom and Gladio would be happy to have you around, too. I know they would. They're crazy about you."

Ignis makes a quiet _hmpf_ sound and pulls him close, as if to say _enough about that_. Noct reaches up to kiss him again, to bury his fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. It's soft. Ignis' lips are even softer, with a hint of steel where that small scar is. Noct loses himself in all of it, until he bumps Iggy's visor again. 

"Sorry," Ignis murmurs. Noct reaches up to take the visor off, but Ignis flinches beneath his hands. 

"Hey, no. It's okay." Noct tries again. He lifts the glasses away with reverent hands, only for Ignis to turn the left side of his face away from him. His chin dips, tucking into his collar. He looks for all the world like he wants to hide in it. Like he wants to disappear.

"Iggy," Noct says. "Hey." When that fails to rouse him, Noct folds the visor into his pocket and uses his hands: stroking softly beneath Iggy's chin, gentling him like a shy chocobo at the ranch. He hadn't expected this. He'd expected Ignis to be fearless, because he always is.

"I'm sorry," Noct tells him, ten years too late.

_That_ gets Ignis to look up. "No, it's not that, I..." Noct waits for him to finish. "I simply..." After what seems like forever, he huffs aloud. "Is it that bad? Truly? I can't tell, but Prom said..."

Noct looks, truly looks. The skin within Ignis' mark is sunken-in, gnarled like the bark of a tree, thick with scarring. His eyelid is twisted with it, forever sealed shut. It _is_ bad, bad enough to make Noct's stomach twinge with sympathetic pain, but at the same time it's just Ignis' face. Brave and beloved, same as it ever was. And it's not like Noct doesn't have his own scars, bad enough to hide; he hasn't gone swimming without a shirt since he was eight. "Prompto seriously said...?"

Ignis chuckles, a dark, bitter sound. "He said it was fine. But I know that can't be the truth."

"Why not?" Noct says, and kisses him again to seal the statement in wax.

Their noses fit together so much better without the glasses -- now he can kiss Iggy so much deeper. And he does, willing seventeen years of friendship and love into every touch. He lifts his hands to frame Ignis' face, to soothe the edge of that scar the way he's wanted to since the first time he saw it, and Ignis sighs against him. By the time they're finished, Iggy's good eye is bright with unshed tears. 

_I was right_ , Noct thinks. _Full of Light._

"The tent," Ignis murmurs. "If you'll still have me, I--"

Noct hugs him tight around the middle, with all his unnatural Crystal strength. "I'll _always_ have you, Iggy. Gods, don't even ask, just please..." 

Ignis bows his head, kisses his hair. Opens the tent flap.

They build a perfect Citadel out of two sleeping bags zipped together, and pour a lifetime of love into a few stolen hours. It's as wonderful as Noct dreamed it would be, like a magic spell Ignis weaves with each moan, each gasp of Noct's name. Like his oath, given anew with each quick, eager breath, until they tremble together in awe. Despite all his brave words, Noct's been afraid until that moment to die alone... but now he knows, he _knows_ that Ignis will be with him forever. 

_Always_.

Afterward, Ignis holds him, curled around him like a guardian spirit, and the world around them slips away. Noct shuts his eyes and he can almost feel it: the two of them together in the big, luxurious bed they might've had in another world, nestled in silk sheets at the top of the King's tower. Sleep comes easy, dreamless, deep.

He wakes an unknown number of hours later, to find Prompto crawling over him to the far side of the tent. "S-sorry," he mumbles, and Noct breathes out his acceptance. Then the tent flap opens again, and something dark and huge settles down on the other side of Ignis, moving with care. 

Noct can just make out the sound of Gladio's liquid chuckle, and a murmur that sounds a lot like "'bout time, huh?"

Ignis just snorts and rolls out of Noct's arms, crawling over him. Heading outside, to take the last "watch" of the night. Noct's sure that Ignis will hear anything that threatens them, but for an instant he almost calls him back, because he's equally sure that nothing will. But then he thinks _let him go, he might need this_... and the tent feels warm and close, filled with the soft sound of his friends' breath. It's a sound he never wants to forget, so he fills himself with it as long as he can, soaking it into his heart.

Sleep solves his dilemma for him, as it so often has.

\---

It feels strange to wake to a world that's still dark, though his friends make no notice of it. Noctis stands at the edge of the cliff and squints outward into the gloom, trying to see Insomnia, but the only thing he can make out is the distant, ghostly outline of the Pax Bridge. The familiar sounds of his friends breaking down camp surround him, lulling him with the illusion of other mornings, other havens; he can almost catch the scent of coffee, the sizzle of eggs, the thump of Gladio's boots as he heads back from his run. Then it all fades into silence, until Ignis comes to stand beside him.

"Is this truly what you want?" Ignis asks.

Noct turns, lifts his chin, and meets his old friend's sightless eyes. "Yeah, I'm ready. Ready to end this."

"Then I will walk by your side until you give me my leave. And after that... I promise to do my best to live on, as you've asked me to." Ignis fists his hand over his heart and bows, formal as ever. "By your command, Your Majesty."

"I'll wait for you, Iggy. Afterward... whatever comes, I'll wait." He smiles. "Can't be King of Light without my Advisor, right?"

"No," Ignis chuckles, warm and soft. "We can't have that."

"You two ready to go?" Gladio asks, hefting his greatsword onto his shoulder. Beyond him, Prompto's sighting down the barrel of his revolver, adjusting his cuffs. Noct spots a flash of black ink beneath them, covered by nothing at all. 

"Ready," Noct says, and the True King and his Sword-Sworn set forth one last time, to banish the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember that awkward part with Secretary Claustra and the only dialogue tree in the game? the second part of this fic is kinda like that, except Noct gets Ignis instead of four Oracle Ascension Coins
>
>> ->Express Gratitude, +3 points
>> 
>> ->Tell the Truth, +2 points
>> 
>> ->Strong Front, +3 points
>> 
>>  ->Cut to Chase, +5 points
>> 
>>  
>> 
>> Noctis won the Royal Advisor's unreserved **thrust**!
> 
>    
> 
> 
>   
>  _"I don't need very much now," said the boy._   
>  _"just a quiet place to sit and rest._   
>  _I am very tired."_   
>  _"Well," said the tree, straightening_   
>  _herself up as much as she could,_   
>  _"well, an old stump is good for sitting and resting_   
>  _Come, Boy, sit down. Sit down and rest."_   
>  _And the boy did._   
>  _And the tree was happy._   
> 


End file.
